They pitched their camp downstream from the waterfall, down where the sound of the falling water was muted by the intervening trees. Halíd and Urus led the camels back to the succulent grasses at the edge of the Kandrawood, hobbling the grumbling beasts eager to graze. When they returned, Urus said, “I advise that we rest this day, for the journey has been long and wearisome. Tomorrow will be soon enough to begin our search.”
Gwylly, sitting on the grass beside Faeril, asked, “How long has it been? How much time is left?”
Urus held up the fingers of both hands, ticking them down one at a time and then back up as he counted. “We spent two days at Sabra, and counting today, we have been thirteen days getting here. If we take the same time returning, thirteen days more, then the sum is twenty-eight. That means we have at most thirty-two days to search ere our sixty days total are gone, ere we need be back at Sabra to sail on the Bèllo Vènto.”
Faeril’s amber eyes sparkled. “Thirty-two days to search? Then we are certain to find it, I think, for Dodona was believed to lie in the Karoo, in a place where kandra was said to grow, and here we are in the midst of the Kandrawood. It’s got to be near; I feel it in my bones.”
Gwylly sprang to his feet. “Bones or not, love, it’s me for a swim. Besides, I am of a mind to look behind that waterfall for a secret cave…for I ask you, where better to hide the Ring of Dodona?”
Faeril’s eyes flew wide. “Oh, Gwylly, do you think so? Wait up, I’m coming with you.”
* * *
Refreshed by their swim, it was mid-afternoon when all the companions returned to camp. In back of the waterfall Gwylly had found nothing but the slightly hollowed stone of the linn, needing a boost from Urus to clamber up behind. As Gwylly had emerged, sputtering and blowing, declaring failure, Faeril’s face had fallen, but then quicksilver swift she had broken into a smile, and they had gamboled in the water. Wallowing in the pool, even Halíd’s dark mood had lightened somewhat, the Realmsman still mourning Reigo’s death, his friend of many years.
And now as they sat under the kandra trees, Halíd gazed at the stream. “Ilnahr taht,” he murmured.
Gwylly, combing Faeril’s wet hair, looked up. “What? What did you say, Halíd?”
“Oh, I was just reflecting on an old legend of the desert, the legend of Ilnahr taht, the River Under.
“It seems that far beneath the sands of the Karoo flows an endless river, coming from the place beyond, going to the place afar, returning at last on its long, long journey unto its very own origin, circling forever upon itself.
“Some claim it is a river of death, while others call it a stream of life. The imâmîn say it is both, for are not life and death each part of the same endless circle?
“I know not the truth of it, nor whether this stream is Ilnahr taht, yet I am curious as to the source of this water and whither it does flow…for this gorge is surrounded by the Karoo. If it is not Ilnahr taht, coursing beneath the sands, then it imitates it well.”
* * *
The morning of the next day found each of them eager to set forth to find the Ring of Dodona. As they broke their fast, Riatha suggested their course of action:
“We know not what we look for, other than it is a ring. As to what the ring may be, the legends and tales are filled with speculation, and surviving fragments of the records do not tell; perhaps those who scribed them assumed that all would know. Many icons purport to show its mein, all different: a circle of fluted columns; a temple round; a wide stone basin; a ring of dolmen; a circular cavern; a crystal chamber; an enormous pillar; a mound. It could even be a finger ring or a ring of mushrooms. Natural or constructed, we here know not. Who can say? We cannot.
“Yet this I can say: when we see it, if we see it, mayhap we will not recognize it as the Ring of Dodona. We must keep in mind that it may have decayed or fallen to ruin; it may even have been destroyed, deliberately or by natural forces. It may be a thing cleverly concealed, or it may be a thing in plain sight, a thing that we would not ordinarily take as a ring.
“Today I would have us ride together the length of this ravine, from one end to the other, from side to side, and measure out its extent, see its broad features. If we find not the ring, then after we have seen what these walls contain, let us devise a plan for searching out all.
“What say ye?”
* * *
For twenty-seven days they searched out the canyon, divided in teams of two: Gwylly and Halíd, Faeril and Aravan, Riatha and Urus. The gorge held the shape of a crescent Moon, running southerly and curving away to the west, seven miles from tip to tip, and three quarters of a mile at its widest. The only path inward was the one they had taken, except of course for the river, flowing in under the western wall, streaming some three miles southward, exiting out under the wall opposite. From under the Karoo it came; back under the Karoo it went; and the six of them took to calling it Ilnahr taht, the River Under. The Kandrawood grew the length of the watercourse, spreading out a goodly distance from both banks, filling the gorge from side to side for most of the river’s length. The very horns of the crescent gorge were rather barren, being farthest from the water, the vegetation sparse and dwindling in the far ends. But the middlemost four miles were relatively lush, especially in the Kandrawood.
But twenty-seven days did they search, finding nothing that they could call a ring. A rope about his waist with Urus anchoring, Aravan even swam underwater under both walls looking for a hidden chamber beyond…to no avail.
They walked the flanks at the base of the high stone walls, seeking a hidden crevice.
They searched the walls of the chasm of the known pathway out.
They tapped on stones, listening for hollows beyond, and rolled aside boulders.
Halíd and Gwylly rode up and out and ’round the rim, not only seeking the ring on the verge above, but also seeking the ring from above, peering down into the canyon for any circular shape.
Again, all their efforts were futile, unavailing.
Each night they would return to camp, frustrated in their quest.
Twenty-seven days they had searched. In just five days they would have to leave.
* * *
It was after mid of night when Gwylly wakened Faeril for her turn at watch, giving over to her Aravan’s blue stone. As was their wont, they sat together awhile and spoke softly. And on this night Gwylly said something which continued to echo in Faeril’s mind long after her buccaran had gone to sleep: “What we need,” he had declared, “is an oracle to find the oracle.”
Faeril pondered Gwylly’s remark, wondering why it nagged at her so. Perhaps…
She went to her pack and rummaged about, finding the small iron box with its crystal. Moonlight to see the future. There is no Moon, only starlight. Starlight to see the past. The last time I charged it, though, it was with moonlight.
Faeril returned to the rock on which she had been sitting. With some trepidation she opened the iron lid and withdrew the silk-wrapped crystal. The last time I tried to use this, I was in a coma for three days. Mayhap if I merely let it guide me, mayhap I won’t tumble down within.
Faeril took the crystal in hand, closing her fingers about its long-sided, hexagonal shape. The damman next closed her eyes, her mind canting a chant: Dodona…Dodona…Dodona…
She felt a warm tingling at her throat. With her free hand she located its source, her fingers touching Aravan’s stone.
Left, seemed to come a gentle bidding. Left.
Her eyes flew open. The stone stopped tingling.
Closing her eyes once more, she struggled to still her startled spirit. At last her heart quieted its wild hammering, and a state of anticipatory calm filled her soul. Dodona…Dodona…Dodona…
Left….
* * *
Riatha wakened Gwylly, the buccan sitting up, rubbing his eyes. Darkness was yet upon the land. “What is it?” he whispered, not wishing to waken the others.
The Elfess whispered in return. “Gwylly, dost t
hou know where is Faeril?”
Gwylly looked about, his heart thudding. He did not see his dammia, and alarm filled him. Still he managed to control his voice. “No,” he replied softly.
Riatha’s shoulders slumped, and she held up a small iron box and a black silken cloth. “Then, Gwylly, Faeril is missing, and I fear for her.”
* * *
They roused the camp and weapons in hand began the search, moving softly through the night, for who knew what foe might have taken her? And when came the dawn, they had not yet found her, even though at last they had begun calling out her name, their voices echoing from the canyon walls. Finally Urus said, “I will find her.” The Baeran turned to Halíd. “Halíd, fear not that which you are to see.”
A darkness gathered about Urus, enveloping him, his shape changing, growing huge, brown, with long black claws and ivory fangs, dropping to all fours, and where Urus had been now growled a huge Bear.
“Waugh!” cried Halíd, backing away, scribing a warding sign in the air. “Afrit!”
“Steady,” hissed Aravan, placing his hand on Halíd’s, stopping the Gjeenian from drawing his knife. “There’s nought to fear.”
His eyes wide, Halíd glanced at the Elf, then back at the Bear. “Reigo would have laughed,” he murmured, then nodded to Aravan. “I am all right now.”
The Bear snuffled at Faeril’s blankets, then cast about, whuffing, nose to the ground. Into the woods he went, away from the stream, ambling in the general direction of the waterfall, rambling back and forth across a track that only he could follow, the others coming after. Yet the farther he went, the more reluctant he became, nearly turning aside several times, as if something was resisting him, bidding him to turn away. The two-legs trailing him also seemed disinclined to go farther. But one—the small two-legs that had ridden him when there was snow—that two-legs seemed more determined, and though the wee two-legs nearly stopped several times, on each occasion he shook his head as if dispelling sleep and urged the Bear onward. And together, Bear and wee two-legs, the rest following, they at last came to a glade and stepped within…and suddenly the resistance vanished.
A peaceful quietness lay upon the dell, leaves rustling softly overhead—though strangely, the sound of the waterfall could not be heard even though it was but mere yards away.
Lying in the glade center was another two-legs, another wee one. The Bear ambled to her side and snuffled—this was the one he had been seeking. The Bear nosed her, nudging her, but she did not move for she was deeply asleep, a winter sleep, or so it seemed to the Bear.
The others had gathered about, some kneeling. The Bear backed away and sat down…and thought of Urus. And a dark shimmering came upon the beast, and again Halíd stepped back, awe in his eyes. Swiftly the shape before the Gjeenian changed, altering, losing bulk, gaining form, and, suddenly there on the ground sat Urus.
In glade center. Gwylly and Aravan and Riatha knelt beside Faeril. The damman lay on her back, her eyes closed, seemingly asleep. In her left hand resting ’cross her stomach she held her clear crystal; in her right hand at her neck she clutched Aravan’s amulet on its thong.
Aravan reached out his hand and touched the blue stone, and his eyes flew wide with surprise. “Wait!” he called.
Riatha looked up and ’round, her silver eyes filling with wonder. They were in the very center of a perfect circle of evenly spaced kandra trees. At last they had found the Ring of Dodona…
…but at what cost?
CHAPTER 31
Dodona
Autumn, 5E989
[The Present]
Her eyes tightly shut, crystal clasped in her left hand, the blue stone in her right, mentally chanting Dodona…Dodona…Faeril stepped cautiously forward, following the gentle bidding. Whence it came, she knew not, only that it did.
Faeril was reluctant to leave the campsite, and nearly did not, but something or someone seemed to assure her that her companions would be safe, that the entire gorge was warded, protected. Too, she did not wish to lose her link with the presence.
And so, eyes closed, crystal in her left hand, amulet in her right, she followed the vague nudgings, nudgings more sensed than felt.
That she walked in the Kandrawood she did not doubt, for leaves rustled overhead. That she neared the falling water, this she also did not doubt, the shssh of the cascade growing louder. That she did not stumble or collide with a tree never entered her mind, for she knew that she was guided in safety.
…Dodona…
Stepping on the soft grass, among the trees she wandered, following…following. At last she came to a place where, except for the rustle of leaves, all sound ceased, the shssh of the falls suddenly stilled. She nearly opened her eyes but did not, and instead paced forward, then stopped…and sat.
A voice came softly. “Open your eyes, child.”
* * *
Faeril saw before her an eld Man, or so he seemed, long white hair and a flowing white beard and dressed in white robes. His face was crinkled with age lines, and pale blue eyes looked out at her from beneath shaggy white brows.
“Are you Dodona?” asked the damman.
The Man smiled gently. “I am known by many names, Dodona among them.”
“What are you?”
The Man smiled. “Ever direct. Ever in a hurry. Mortals.
“I am the warder, the guardian, the keeper, the speaker. Some would call me a Hidden One, though there are many of many kinds by that name.”
Faeril now smiled. “You are indeed a Hidden One, for we could not find you.”
“I was always here to be found.”
“But it was difficult, Dodona.”
“Not all who seek, find. This ring”—he gestured about, and Faeril saw that she was seated in the center of a ring of kandra trees—“this ring is warded from discovery by a simple charm, and only those of sufficient need or wit can find it.”
“We have a need, I and my companions.”
“I know, child. You seek a death. I do not willingly aid those who seek the death of another.”
Faeril nodded. “Your reluctance I can understand, Dodona, but this Man is a monster. And I travel with honorable companions.”
The eld Man seemed to look elsewhere, as if seeing something beyond the circle of trees. “Yes, child, your comrades are most worthy. You travel with a Friend; this I know, for that stone at your neck is his and not yours. Too, you travel with a BearLord, and I know whence he came. You travel with one who is to bear the hope of the world, and she is worthy. You travel with one who will aid in ridding the world of a foulness, though not the one you seek. And you travel with one who loves you, one whom you love in return. All of these companions are indeed honorable.”
“And the one we seek? What of his honor?”
Again the eld Man gazed elsewhere. “The one you seek has no honor, and truly is a monster upon the world. Even so, I am reluctant to aid in the death of any.”
“But I found you, Dodona. Does that not say I have sufficient need?”
“Or that you have sufficient wit.”
Faeril looked at the Man. “In either case, I seek knowledge.”
The Man’s blue eyes gazed into hers. “And I am bound to answer, though you may not understand my reply.”
“Well and good, Dodona, well and good, for I have many things to ask you: where we can find Baron Stoke; the whereabouts of the Dawn Sword; where Aravan can locate his yellow-eyed Man; the secret of Urus’s identity, of his abandonment, and of the identity of his parents; the meaning of Rael’s prophecy concerning silverlarks and Silver Sword; the meaning of my own prophecy concerning the Rider of the Planes; what you meant about Riatha and the hope of the world; what happened to the expedition of Prince Juad when he came to find you; and—”
Faeril’s words skidded to a halt as the eld Man, smiling and shaking his head, held up a hand, palm outward. “You may ask, but I will answer only one question of import and it must be one you choose.”
Now Fa
eril was nonplussed. “Only one?”
“Only one.”
Her chin in her hand, long did the damman think, trying to decide. Yet at last she looked at the eld Man and said, “We came seeking the whereabouts of Baron Stoke, and though there may be more important issues that I could address, still, my companions and I are sworn to run him to earth. I suppose that I could be clever and ask where we will slay Stoke, thus gaining foreknowledge not only of his location but also foresight as to the success of our mission…but I will not. Instead, Dodona, I will merely ask where will we find Baron Stoke.”
The Man smiled. “It is good that you did not try to be overly cunning, child, for the answers I give are uncertain at best, and the simpler the query, the more reliable the answer.
“Yet heed, it has been long since one such as you has come, one with an innocent heart, and in giving my answer to your question, I would also reward you with knowledge you seek but did not ask for.
“You hold in your left a clear crystal, and I know that you would learn about such. I will show you much concerning that talisman, but not all.
“Gaze into its depths, child, for I would take you on a journey.”
Faeril held the crystal up before her amber eyes and looked deep within. And suddenly, down she tumbled, falling among glittering mirrors and glistening panes and the tinging sound of wind chimes…
…to land…
…in Caer Pendwyr.
Dodona stood at hand.
Courtiers strolled. Pages rushed thither and yon. People sat on benches, waiting for an audience with the High King.
The eld Man bent over and said to her, “They cannot see us.”
Faeril looked at the Man. “Wha— Is this real?” She could yet hear the tink and ching of crystalline chimes.
Dodona laughed. “Perhaps, child. Perhaps not.”
Suddenly they were in an empty chamber of the castle.
“I brought you here to show you something. Gaze out this window. What do you see?”
Faeril looked out the window. The cerulean waters of the Avagon Sea rolled below, white caps rushing inward to crash against the base of the sheer stone cliffs. “I see the sea.”
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